


A Second Cup

by geekmama



Series: Aftermath [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, F/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 11:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12456528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: FollowingBreakfast with Mycroft, events are catching up to Sherlock...





	A Second Cup

**Author's Note:**

> As I said, this series should really have been a chaptered fic, and the individual stories might not make sense without reading the previous bits. :-(
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“Would you like a second cup of tea?” Molly asked, gently.

Sherlock had been toying with the last of his toast, becoming very quiet in the last few minutes as she straightened the kitchen and, with pen and a favorite pad of cat-bordered note paper ( _Oh, Toby!_ she’d thought with a pang), jotted down a prospective menu for tomorrow morning’s event.

“Please,” he replied.

She poured them each a cup, saying, “I’ll need to go to Waitrose later. I need a few things for brunch tomorrow.”

“We can go when Mycroft’s people arrive. Actually…” His voice trailed off and she found him eyeing her with grave consideration.

“What?” she demanded with a little laugh.

“Would you like to go see John and Rosie? I doubt John will be leaving the house today, but since we have to vacate these premises for a while--”

“I’d love to!” Molly said. “We can bring some takeaway and all have dinner together.”

“I’ll text him,” said Sherlock, picking up his mobile. But less than a minute after he’d shot off the initial text, his phone began to play John’s ringtone. Sherlock sighed and put it on speakerphone as he exchanged a glance with Molly, his own resigned, hers amused. “John,” he said, laying the phone on the counter.

“Sherlock! Is… is everything alright? Do you have me on speaker?”

“Yes, Molly’s here. More to the point, are _you_ alright? _I_ wasn’t trapped in a well for hours last night.”

John laughed. “Yeah, I’m okay. Could use some more sleep, but Rosie’ll go down for her nap in a bit so I’ll get a chance soon. But you’re coming for dinner?”

“Molly and I, yes. We’ll stop and get takeaway. We’ll need to leave at four. Mycroft’s people are coming to do another sweep for stray cameras or incendiary devices, just in case. My parents are coming here tomorrow morning, and Mycroft. Molly’s planning a brunch. It will be quite the family reunion, with Eurus playing the part of the elephant in the room, of course.”

“Good God!”.

“My thoughts precisely,” Sherlock agreed.

“And Molly’s good with it?”

“It was her suggestion,” Sherlock said, with a crooked smile.

“Oh. Well. That’s great. Very generous of you, Molls. You there?”

Molly smiled, too. “Yes, I’m here. Thank you, John. How is Rosie? Did she do alright with Stella and Ted?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s great. I’m glad to have her with me today, though. Almost hard to believe it was just yesterday that I thought I might not ever... well. It’s over now. More or less, I mean. Has he told you all of it?”

But Sherlock said, drily, “No, John. Not yet. I’m… working up the courage. As it were.” He caught Molly’s eye again, looking rueful.

John chuckled, but said, “Yeah. I know. Just tell her the truth, Sherlock. But there’s a lot to tell, so I’ll let you go. See you both at 4:30?”

“Yes,” Molly said, firmly. “Have a good nap with Rosie.”

“I will.”

“Goodbye, John,” said Sherlock, and disconnected the call.

When he peered up at her, somewhat hesitantly, she narrowed her eyes. “You’re not _really_ afraid to tell me, are you?”

“I… well, yes. I don’t _really_ want to speak of it at all. But… you have a right to know.” All the humor faded from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Molly. I wanted you to be safe, and… I failed. Again.”

She went quickly around to him. He held out his hands, but she gently caught his face in her own and made him look at her. “You are a great man, Sherlock Holmes,” she said, with conviction, “but you are as human as the rest of us.” And then she kissed him, very tenderly.

He gave an odd little hitching gasp against her lips, then pulled her into a rough embrace and pressed his cheek against her breast, his arms tight around her. She held him close and kissed his dark head in the way she had always longed to do, but she would not weep, not now, when he needed her strength.

After a minute or so she said, “Let’s go back to bed. And after, you can tell me about that dog you’re so keen on, too. Mary told me how fond you were of that Bloodhound, the one you borrowed that time she and John and Rosie went out with you. And didn’t you have a dog named Redbeard when you were little? You might not remember, but you told me all about him when you were in hospital. An Irish Setter, wasn’t he?”

Sherlock released her, and looked up, and, distressingly, there were tears in his eyes. “Molly,” he said, almost in a whisper, “You… you’re right. Let’s go back to bed.”

Concerned, and a little puzzled, she nodded and stepped back, taking his hand in hers. He got to his feet, and she led him out of the sunny kitchen, through the cool shade of the living room, then up the shadowed stairs.

 

~.~


End file.
